


The Named

by dragonspell



Series: The Nameless [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff and Smut, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 07:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: Having just come back from his run, Steve looks like a picture in a magazine, T-shirt tight but sweat pants loose, the exercise barely affecting him beyond a slight sheen of sweat on his skin.  He’s not even breathing hard, completely photo-ready.  Steve’s the reason why Bucky is standing by the kitchen counter at seven in the morning when he would much rather be still in bed.  After the first few days, when Steve finally would allow Bucky to be out of his sight for longer than five minutes, Steve had reverted to his set morning routine, slipping out of bed before dawn when all sensible people are still trying to sleep.  It had taken Bucky two days to catch on and adapt to the new situation.  Now, every morning, though he’s loathe to leave the bed that smells of him and Steve, Bucky rolls himself to his feet about an hour after Steve leaves to ensure that he’s by the door when Steve comes back.  If he doesn’t, Steve will head straight for the shower to wash off all of the hard won sweat that Bucky would like to drown himself in.(Or, since being rescued, Bucky's relearning what he's missed.  Steve goes into heat.  Pretty much complete porn).





	The Named

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up to "The Nameless" and exists, in all of its sappiness, as an excuse to write the porn I didn't get around to.

_Bucky._ That’s his name. He tries it out, in the silence of his own mind, letting it echo across the still thawing minefield that is his brain. It sounds right even as something instinctive twists inside of him, a small kernel of panic bubbling into something larger and larger and larger—

“Bucky,” he whispers aloud, daring to speak his secret with his own lips. The panic inside of him withers and he feels relief at the victory. He has a name. He’s allowed one. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, his words floating past Bucky’s ears like angel wings, once again quietly reminding Bucky of who he is. Bucky shivers. He takes a deep breath and shivers again. The smell of Steve has permeated the suite of rooms that they live in, honey sweet and ever-present and Bucky wishes to wrap himself up in it and never leave. The scent gets stronger the closer that Steve gets, a candy store opening up shop right under Bucky’s nose the moment Steve steps up to him.

Having just come back from his run, Steve looks like a picture in a magazine, T-shirt tight but sweat pants loose, the exercise barely affecting him beyond a slight sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s not even breathing hard, completely photo-ready. A picture, though, would never quite encompass the whole of Steve, convey the entirety of his presence. The experience of Steve is something that Bucky could spend the rest of his life trying to describe and never be able to achieve. 

Steve’s the reason why Bucky is standing by the kitchen counter at seven in the morning when he would much rather be still in bed. After the first few days, when Steve finally would allow Bucky to be out of his sight for longer than five minutes, Steve had reverted to his set morning routine, slipping out of bed before dawn when all sensible people are still trying to sleep. It had taken Bucky two days to catch on and adapt to the new situation. Now, every morning, though he’s loathe to leave the bed that smells of him and Steve, Bucky rolls himself to his feet about an hour after Steve leaves to ensure that he’s by the door when Steve comes back. If he doesn’t, Steve will head straight for the shower to wash off all of the hard won sweat that Bucky would like to drown himself in. 

Super soldier formula, seventy years and countless experiences, but Steve’s sweat still smells the same, reminding Bucky of hot summers in Brooklyn, scandalously stripped down to skivvies in the middle of the day and laying sprawled out on the floor in front of the one fan he and Stevie had between them. It’s a flash of memory, warm and solid in Bucky’s mind and he grabs it and files it away like he does all of the others as his damaged mind slowly heals. The scent of Steve makes Bucky’s body hum pleasantly in response. Every day since being reunited, Steve smells a little sweeter and the hum grows a little more pronounced. Today, Bucky feels as if he might start to vibrate.

Steve approaches Bucky like he’s afraid that Bucky might bolt and there’s some truth to that. They’ve had a few setbacks, times where Bucky forgets where he is and who he’s with, forgets that he’s _safe_. There are times when Bucky’s mind gets confused, times when he’s back in the chair or preparing to go in the ice, times when he’s squeezing the life out of someone that dared a little too much. It’s then that Bucky needs the caution that Steve gives him because Bucky will lash out without meaning to, do things that he’ll regret when his mind finally comes back to the present day. Steve reaches out a hand and Bucky watches it passively as it approaches, remaining still as it grazes over his shoulder. Some days, he’s unsure how he’ll react too. Steve grips the join of his shoulder, stretching over where flesh meets metal, because Steve doesn’t care that Bucky’s no longer ‘whole’, just that Bucky’s here. “You doing okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s lips curl upward into that shape that he’s slowly relearning. There is no surge of panic nor dead numbness at Steve’s touch, but instead a blossoming warmth. He likes it. “Yeah,” he says and watches as the sunrise breaks across Steve’s face.

“Good.” Steve nods. “That’s real good, Buck.”

 _Good_. That’s another word that Bucky’s reclaiming. His time with Pierce, with Hydra, muddles the meaning if he allows it, but he likes how Steve says it, how the past falls away when that word is on Steve’s lips. Bucky trails the fingers of his flesh and blood hand over Steve’s bare arm up to where Steve’s bicep strains his shirt sleeve. Steve feels like a summer day, warm and peaceful, and Bucky can’t help but be drawn to that. He steps forward and moves into the loose circle of Steve’s arms to tuck his nose under Steve’s jaw and take a deep breath of Steve’s scent. It curls inside of him, the first lazy tendrils of fire licking his insides, thawing out the vestiges of ice that still remain in his soul. Another breath fans the flames and he brings his hands up to rest against Steve’s chest. He’s reminded of what it means to be human. A person.

Steve’s sweet smell beckons Bucky closer, encourages him to sink himself into Steve and never leave. Bucky’s eyes flutter. “Omega,” he purrs, the soft rumble echoing in his throat. He runs his hands across Steve’s sides and onto his back, holding the solid bulk of him to wallow in all the heat and barely restrained strength of his body.

Steve makes an odd choking noise that makes Bucky’s head jerk up in concern but Steve pushes Bucky’s forehead back down to where it was and holds him there, body softly swaying as he swallows. “Yeah, Buck. I’m your omega. All yours.”

Bucky’s fists clench in Steve’s shirt at the words, his back going rigid. _Omega_. He likes that word, too. Likes how it comes with the feeling of sunshine and the smell of honey. His mouth moves against Steve’s skin, catching Steve’s taste along the inside of his lower lip. “I’m your alpha,” he says. Steve nods.

“All mine,” he affirms, his hands gently easing over Bucky’s shoulders. They sway together for a long minute, bodies moving in sync until Bucky finally lifts his head away from Steve’s warmth. Steve’s eyes are blue like the ocean, reflecting the color of his shirt, and Bucky wants to burn it into his memory so that he’ll never forget. Fifty years down the road, remembering the clear blue of Steve’s eyes, the gentle swoop of his eyelashes and the soft crinkle of his slowly developing smile.

“What?” Steve asks gently, his voice full of the smile teasing at his lips. Bucky’s attention is drawn downward to the soft, wet pinkness of Steve’s mouth. He’d like to remember that forever too.

“C’mere for a second,” Bucky whispers and braces a hand against the back of Steve’s head to urge him forward. Steve comes willingly, his lips meeting Bucky’s without hesitation. Soft and tender like a whispered promise, Steve aligns perfectly and Bucky’s mesmerized by the slow slide of their mouths together. He gets lost in the gentle glide of their lips, in the muted wet sounds, in how Steve clings to him with all the quiet desperation that Bucky feels.

Steve chokes back a whimper as he presses in a little more, his tongue flicking over Bucky’s lower lip before it retreats. Bucky follows Steve’s tongue back to Steve’s mouth, mimicking Steve’s little lick before sliding in more fully, daring for more. Steve melts against him, his body sagging into Bucky’s arms, and Bucky stumbles back, catching himself on a kitchen counter to support them both.

They break apart for a minute, taking time to catch their breaths, just breathing in one another’s scents. “That felt good,” Steve murmurs, his voice low and husky in a way that sends a spark of recognition running down through Bucky’s core. Steve licks his lips like he’s reliving Bucky’s taste, looking so damn _enraptured_ while he does it that Bucky can’t resist pulling him in for another kiss.

Bucky’s hands stroke along Steve’s back, following the curve down to where his shirt ends. His fingers play at the hem, slipping underneath to trace the waistband of Steve’s sweats. He dips beneath the band to feel the warm skin, then pulls back to the relative safety of Steve’s torso. “Whatever you want, Buck,” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s mouth as his own arms wrap around Bucky’s shoulders. The invitation set, Bucky resumes his former explorations, dropping his hands back down to the beginning swell of Steve’s ass. Steve sighs and traces the length of Bucky’s spine.

This is the furthest that they have come since they found each other again. Fear threads through Bucky like ice, crackling along his skin and freezing his joints. He wants more, remembers doing more, but he’s unsure of what that means. And what if he’s not like how Steve remembers him? Not physically—Bucky will never be the same Brooklyn kid that Steve grew up with—but emotionally? What if it doesn’t feel the same? What if Steve doesn’t like the change?

Bucky is Steve’s alpha but if his omega doesn’t welcome his touch, what does that make him?

This right here, this is safe. It’s familiar territory. There’s nothing waiting for him in Steve’s hands other than more soft touches and the feeling of acceptance.

The longer he remains out of the ice, though, the longer he remains free of the cocktail of drugs that Hydra pumped into him on a regular basis, the more that Bucky remembers—the more that he _wants_.

Bucky drops his hands a few inches lower and has to brace himself when Steve surges forward in surprise with a gasp. Rejection prickling, Bucky retreats again. “Sorry,” he mutters and keeps himself in safer territory.

“No,” Steve says. “No, that was good. I, uh…” Steve chuckles, a bit of red staining his cheeks. “I liked it.” Steve’s hands slide down Bucky’s back to mirror Bucky’s earlier positioning. “If you, you know, ever want to do it again.”

Bucky reaches back down and lets his hand fully explore the curve of Steve’s ass and Steve drags him into another kiss. The fire inside of Bucky grows hotter, fueled by the sweet smell of Steve and how he feels in Bucky’s arms. It warms parts of himself that he’d forgotten existed, parts that had gone missing years ago. Back in full force, they beg him to lock his arms around Steve, take him to the hallway and down to the room where they sleep.

Steve breaks away and looks about the room before coming back to Bucky with those soft blue eyes. “Are you sure, Buck? There’s no rush.”

No, Bucky’s not sure. But he knows that he wants to be. Something is awakening in him and he opens himself up to it, letting the crazy words that he’s thinking drop out of his mouth. He would have been punished for doing so before but that was then and this is now. Steve likes it when Bucky talks. It makes him happy and Bucky likes it when Steve is happy. “I’m not sure of anything, Stevie,” he admits, liking how the old nickname feels on his tongue and how it makes Steve slide a little closer against him. “Thought I’d just go with it.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If you want to, uh, take it to the…” Bucky nods at the bed behind Steve. It’s a simple word but for some reason he can’t seem to get it out, his voice trailing into nothing. Steve glances back at the bed, unmade because while Steve will make it without fail every morning, Bucky’s been delighting in the fact that he doesn’t have to anymore. The sheets are rumpled like a battle had been staged between them.

Steve’s grinning when he turns back to Bucky. His hands coax Bucky forward, sliding up to his arms to bring him along. They stop when Steve’s legs bump into the edge of the bed and Steve lifts the bottom of his shirt, twisting it in indecision before he looks at Bucky. “On or off?” he asks and that’s not a question Bucky has to think about.

“Off,” he says. He plucks at the front of his own shirt, one that Steve bought for him and says is his. “On or off?”

Steve tosses his own shirt away. “Off.” He sits down on the bed, sliding back to stretch out as he watches the shirt slip over Bucky’s head. His eyes fixate on Bucky’s chest, slowly move down to his stomach and dip to where Bucky’s sweats stretch across his crotch. He shudders. “Buck. The way you smell…”

Bucky cocks his head. Steve’s scent has become stronger, developing a dark, heady note in the familiar sweetness, one that makes Bucky’s blood sing as it conjures of memories of nights spent together in the darkness, but Bucky cannot smell himself—doesn’t know what he smells like to Steve. He hopes that his scent feels as familiar to Steve as Steve’s does to him.

Steve reaches for him, his hands beckoning impatiently. “Get over here, will ya? I’m going crazy just smelling you.” Relief loosens the bands around Bucky’s heart and a smile cracks his face. “Oh, you like that?” Steve asks, in mock exasperation. “Like me going crazy just thinking about you?” His eyes seem to darken when Bucky finally kneels on the bed. “You’re a tease, Barnes.”

Bucky’s smile widens as he crawls up to where Steve is, one slow movement as a time. This all feels like a dream, like something that isn’t quite real, too good to be so. It feels like a memory, something only that stupid kid back in Brooklyn got to do but here he is, somehow caught back up in this familiar dance with Steve. Bucky doesn’t deserve this but, oh, does he want it. “Teases don’t intend to follow through,” he says. The words feel like an echo, like something he’s said before. They feel right. Steve’s eyes drop down Bucky’s chest again and race back up and Bucky’s heart pounds in his rib cage, beating like a war drum. “I’m not a tease, Stevie.” Steve’s teeth sink into his bottom lip and Bucky takes a quick, steadying breath. He blows it out with a soft noise, and continues on. “And I like that you like how I smell.” The confession is whispered, because it might be silly but Bucky’s afraid that this dream might shatter if he brings in too much reality.

Now that he’s within range, Steve’s hands cup Bucky’s face. “I always like how you smell, Buck,” Steve says. Steve’s like a movie star, so breathtaking and beautiful that you’d swear that he only exists on the other side of a camera only here he is touching Bucky. Bucky doesn’t have the words to explain that. “You’re like that time that your ma took us upstate to that park, where there were all those trees and the air smelled like it had come fresh from the beginning of time… When we went running to that meadow. Remember?”

Bucky does, the memory speeding through his mind like a northbound train. “I had to carry you back because you had an asthma attack.” He sucks in his lip at the thought of yet another time he almost lost Steve. What would he have done without Steve in his life, making his life more difficult than it should have been? Making his life more interesting?

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and I got to smell your shirt collar all the way back.”

Something inside of Bucky twists hotly. “Yeah?” Steve nods, looking slightly ashamed of his younger self’s actions, but not about to apologize for it and Bucky’s heart gives a little twirl. “So you’re saying I smell like a tree?” It’s worth it for the way Steve’s face twists into outrage.

“What? No. I’m saying—I’m saying that you smell _good_ , Buck.”

“And that you like trees,” Bucky adds.

Steve laughs, the sound pure and unrestrained. “Sure, Buck. I like trees. Good thing, huh?” Bucky nods then drops his head as a chuckle takes him by surprise. Laughing is also something that he is starting to relearn. “C’mere,” Steve rasps and pulls him up for another kiss that tugs at Bucky’s soul. Steve’s hands slide across the bare skin of Bucky’s shoulders, slipping down to his back to trace every groove and line that they can find.

When their lips part again, Steve makes his way down Bucky’s neck with soft, wet presses of his mouth, tongue licking over the skin again and again like Steve can’t get enough of how Bucky tastes. Bucky groans, the heat inside him growing ever hotter. He drops his hips to grind against Steve’s and shudders at the noise that Steve voices in response. He does it again.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. “Bucky, I…” Steve drops his head back against the bed, his eyes dreamy and unfocused, his face flushing red. He bites his lip, his body moving under Bucky’s. “I need…”

Bucky swallows. It’s vital to him that Steve finishes that sentence, another formerly dormant part of him roaring into wakefulness and demanding satisfaction. Steve’s scent is even more overpowering now. Bucky doesn’t think that he’d be able to force himself to leave Steve’s side, he’s so desperate to stay. Something about this seems intimately familiar, like Bucky’s been here so many times that it’s akin to breathing, but the how and the why escape him for a moment. He reaches down to grip himself through his sweats, giving his cock a soothing stroke and Steve moans, arching up against the back of his hand. “Steve…”

“Bucky, I just…” Steve arches and shoves his pants down, freeing his hard cock, and the scent of him bowls Bucky over. Bucky’s flesh arm starts to shake and even his metal one whirls ominously, both threatening to take him down. Steve kicks his pants off the side of the bed, baring himself completely. “I think I…” He squirms, pushing his hips back up against Bucky’s hand as his mouth drops open. “If you could just…” His eyes slide closed. “Even if you just finger me a little, Bucky, please…”

Bucky’s hand is moving before he even has a chance to truly process Steve’s words, to work through answering flush in his own cheeks. He runs a finger under the heavy fullness of Steve’s balls, slipping downward until he reaches the crack of Steve’s ass and a smooth slickness. Bucky glances downward as Steve writhes, his mind slowly catching up with his body. Steve chokes back a whimper, hips tilting upward to shamelessly beg and Bucky knows what this is. He’s been here before.

Steve’s in heat. Somehow, some way, Steve is in heat and he wants his alpha—he wants Bucky—to help him through it. Bucky’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. _Steve wants him._ For whatever reason, Bucky is still worthy of having this. Years drop away, taking Bucky back to a small little apartment in the middle of summer, a beautiful, fragile omega squirming in desperation in his bed with Bucky almost too nervous to touch him, afraid of hurting him. “Please, Bucky…” Bucky slips a finger inside of Steve, startling when Steve arches violently, a sob ripping out of his throat. He tries to pull away but Steve grabs his wrist and pushes him in deeper. “More, Bucky, please. Please, it doesn’t hurt, I promise…”

It’s an echo of the past, the words the same that Steve said back on Bucky’s bed, and there’s a confusing knot of emotions sitting behind Bucky’s breastbone, too tangled together to even try to unravel. He finds himself recreating the memory of that night, slowly swirling his finger inside of Steve, feeling the same amazement that he did back when they were both teenagers, shocked at how easily Steve allows this and how hot his body feels.

Bucky’s cock throbs between his legs, remembering other times as well, reminding Bucky that he’s not sixteen anymore, telling him that this is a dance that he knows well. He slips another finger in beside the first, sliding them both in and out of Steve with a wet squelch while Steve claws at the sheets on the bed, mouth opening on noises that stick in his throat.

The chair, the ice, Hydra’s drugs, all of their brainwashing and Bucky still could remember the smell of Steve, the bond between them still there despite the seventy years that separated them. Bucky’s body is already responding to Steve’s need, temporarily burning away the remains of the nameless soldier that inhabited his body for so long, that part of him unneeded and unwanted. Right now, Steve needs Bucky, his alpha, and Bucky intends to be that for him.

He pulls his fingers out of Steve, temporarily ignoring Steve’s whine of protest, to bring them up to his mouth and slowly suck off the slick. His eyelashes flutter as a wave of lust pushes away everything else but the desperate, squirming omega in his bed—in _their_ bed. “ _Fuck_ , Stevie,” Bucky whispers.

Steve’s fingers grip Bucky’s thighs, digging in hard enough to bruise, as he stares up at Bucky with lust-blown eyes. “Bucky…”

Bucky fumbles with the waistband of his sweats, needing them off but barely possessing the fine motor skills to remove them. He shoves them to his knees and topples over on top of Steve as he tries to push them further. Bracing himself with the more reliable metal arm, he gets one leg free and settles for that, too focused on the feel of Steve’s hot body underneath of him and how Steve’s arms wrap around him to hold him tight. Steve moves under him, hips rocking, rubbing his hard cock against Bucky’s stomach. 

Bucky stares down at him, tongue too tied up in knots to talk, and reaches for his dick, roughly grabbing it, fingers tightly circling the base to try and keep himself under control. He’s feels a pressure building and though it’s been years, he recognizes it for what it is.

He pushes Steve’s legs up and slides closer, needing to get inside of Steve before his knot pops and he leaves Steve hanging. “Yeah, Buck,” Steve rasps as Bucky’s cock slides against his skin. “Please.” And that’s Bucky’s Steve, so damn polite even when he’s in the searing grip of a heat and no one would blame him for getting a little rude. Bucky jerks forward, unable to slow himself down, and Steve moans, his legs wrapping around Bucky’s waist to make sure that Bucky can’t leave.

As if Bucky could. Bucky doesn’t have the willpower to even look away from Steve. Leaving is not an option. 

Under him, Steve breathes encouragements as he wiggles downward, making sure that they are as close together as they can physically get, and Bucky trembles at the words, the “good” and “perfect” and “Bucky” speaking to his soul. Surrounded by all of Steve’s wet, willing heat, with Steve’s scent in his nose and Steve’s voice in his ears, Bucky starts to pant, already overwhelmed.

He tries to hold himself back—he does. He’s supposed to make this good for Steve, satisfy Steve’s heat, but he’s already too far gone. He was already halfway over the edge the minute he recognized that Steve was in heat. Now that he’s in Steve, for the first time since his “death” all those years ago, he doesn’t stand a chance.

Bucky gives a few rough thrusts, shoving himself into Steve as deep as he can while Steve moans and grips his shoulders, and then he feels his knot expand inside of Steve. Steve shudders and goes still, his eyes closed, and another shot of pure lust stabs into Bucky’s lower stomach, painful in its intensity because he knows that Steve’s focusing on Bucky’s knot, getting high off the feeling of Bucky filling him up. Bucky smears a few wet kisses along Steve’s neck, too lust-drunk on Steve’s heat pheromones to try for finesse, and steadily rocks his hips in shallow little thrusts. Steve matches his movements, both of them working in tandem as they reach for the relief of release.

He starts to come, his body tightening, and he opens his mouth against Steve’s skin, letting the taste of Steve’s sweat send him into orbit. He feels Steve’s arms stiffen around him, Steve’s body arching up, and warm wetness streaks Bucky’s chest. It smells of pure Steve. Bucky whimpers as another pulse of lust skitters along his already overworked nerves. His instincts fairly sing to know that he has pleased his omega, that they’ve successfully mated, Bucky’s come filling Steve up while Steve writhes in pleasure underneath of him. Bucky shudders through the last of his orgasm and sags on top of Steve, his muscles turning to jello with the contentment starting to radiate outward.

His panting sounds obnoxiously loud as he eases down from his orgasm, trying to regain his breath and slow the raging beat of his heart. A few aftershocks race through him, twinging along his nerves and making his extremities convulse. The gears in his metal arm whirl and stutter at the mixed signals emitting from his brain and Bucky sighs. He slants to the side and lets the machinery rest against the bed, using the position to try and take some of his weight off of Steve. He’s not going to be able to go anywhere soon, not with his knot so firmly lodged in Steve, but the least he can do is try to make them comfortable. If he’d really been thinking about comfort, though, his mind helpfully tosses out after the fact, he would have thought about positioning beforehand.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve says, his lips against Bucky’s ear. “I’m not exactly little anymore. You won’t crush me.”

Bucky snorts. It’s hard not to think of Steve as little—and he doesn’t think Steve’s entirely aware of just how much Bucky’s metal limb weighs. Fragile punk or buff super soldier, Bucky’s well aware that his arm isn’t exactly lightweight. “Should’ve done this with you on your knees,” Bucky mutters. Easier to turn them that way, get them both on their sides to wait out the knot.

“Mmm.” Steve strokes his hair. “Then I wouldn’t’ve been able to see your face. That would have been a tragedy.”

“Would have been more comfortable, though.”

“I’m fine.”

“Say that in twenty minutes when you’ve had enough of me crushing you.”

Steve chuckles. “Sounds like a challenge.” 

Bucky sighs and gives in to the grin that’s pulling at his mouth. He has few defenses around Steve. “Not a challenge,” he says because he remembers how Steve is with challenges.

Steve’s hand stills, resting against the back of Bucky’s head. “This was…” His fingers tangle a little as they twist in the strands of Bucky’s hair. “This was good, though?” Bucky stares at Steve, disbelieving of the self-doubt he sees reflected back at him. What a pair they are. Bucky leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips. “This is only my second heat since the, you know, thing and…”

Fear and jealousy tighten along Bucky’s heart in equal measure and Bucky pushes them both back to choose his next words with care. He wasn’t there for Steve when Steve needed him and he doesn’t have the right to judge. “Anyone help you with the first one?”

Steve shakes his head and the jealousy inside of Bucky eases. “No one I trusted. I holed up and rode it out.”

That’s a painful thing for an omega to do, especially one that’s been bonded for as long as Steve has. Guilt prickles along Bucky’s skin and he drops his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Oh, hey, no, Buck.” Steve grips Bucky’s face and tilts it upward. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that this was better—a lot better. And, and I’m glad that you’re here.” 

Bucky nods slowly. “Me, too.” Here, he is no longer one of the nameless. Here, he is Bucky—a person who matters. Here, he is Steve’s alpha and best friend and Bucky might be happy never leaving this room again as long as Steve keeps looking at Bucky like Bucky’s the most important person in the world. “I have a name,” Bucky says, the words slipping past his lips. He wants to pull them back, realizes that they’re nonsense to someone not in his head.

His heart flutters when Steve agrees with him. “Yeah, you do. Bucky Barnes. The best man I’ve ever known.” That’s not true but Bucky appreciates the sentiment. He likes Steve’s faith in him. Tears sting at the corners of his eyes and he dips his head back down to bury his face in Steve’s chest to get a hold of himself again. Steve starts to stroke his hair again. “It’s okay, Buck. I love you.”

 _Buck. Bucky._ He has a name. He matters.

Steve’s heart thumps steadily under Bucky’s hand. Ten, twenty, fifty years from now, or even another seventy, Bucky will still have a name. He will still matter. And Steve will still love him.

Years. Bucky will actually get to see their passage again, not just mark them by the changing faces swarming around him. 

It the years that bring Bucky up short, making him think of what the future might hold, and he suddenly remembers something important. “Stevie?” Steve hums to show that he’s listening and Bucky pushes himself up enough to meet Steve’s blue eyes again. “Are you… Do you still take the…” He shrugs his shoulders.

Steve stares back at him long enough for Bucky’s heart to thump one, twice, three times, then slowly shakes his head. “No.”

Bucky arches up enough to look down between them to where they’re still joined, then comes back to Steve. He swallows. “You okay with that?” They’d talked about it before, a long time ago, back before any of this. Steve’s body had been so small and frail, though, wracked with so many ailments that all the doctors recommended that he not and Bucky agreed. He could live without some theoretical potential future but he couldn’t live without Steve.

Steve trails his fingers over Bucky’s jaw, tracing the line down to his neck and then coming back up to tangle in Bucky’s hair again. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I am.” He pulls Bucky down for a kiss.

It’s terrifying and Bucky feels like he’s trying to jump on a fast moving train—but he’d like to see where it goes. The only thing that he’s really sure of is that he’ll be at Steve’s side no matter what—with him until the end of the line.

And then they’ll jump off together and catch the next one.


End file.
